


That time Mikasa and Jean got a dog

by 123PixieAOD



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Babies, Dogs, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, Love, Marriage, Parenthood, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:21:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29524956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/123PixieAOD/pseuds/123PixieAOD
Summary: Mikasa and Jean have been been married for eight years, and parents for two of those years. This is the story of how their family finally got a dog (fluff n angst)A four part story with no spoilers :)
Relationships: Mikasa Ackerman/Jean Kirstein
Comments: 13
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

The first time Jean saw the dog, he was walking back from work. The sky above was darkening, a wash of pinks and oranges spilling across the otherwise spotlessly blue canvas. Jean didn’t really notice the sunset though. Because he was in a Bad Mood.

The ones that Mikasa always made sure to say with capital letters, teasing him gently to try and cheer him up. Most of their fights occurred when Jean was in one of these Moods, because he was argumentative and an idiot and couldn’t keep a hold on his tongue.

This time it was because of work. He had had to stay much later than he would’ve liked, surrounded by people that he equally did not like, working out a project which, yet again, he did not like.

It was the bureaucracy wanting to tick of all the T’s, dot all the I’s and pretty much trace every single damn letter according to how _it had always been done._

Jean pinched the bridge of his nose. Meetings like the one today made him wish he was back on the battlefield, swinging past titans and trying not to get eaten. Anything would be preferable than having to listen to those idiots ask the same stupid questions every five minutes and –

Jean sighed, rolling his shoulders back. He hated being in one of these Bad Moods, especially when he was at home. He didn’t want to bring work home, and he especially didn’t want another fight with Mikasa. Not that they fought that often, but if he was in one of these moods and being argumentative he knew from experience she wouldn’t just back down.

He tried to think of something else, _anything,_ to move his mind away from work. Wondering what meal Mikasa had made today, if she had gotten around to planting the blubs they’d gone on a picnic to find last weekend. He wondered what Marc had gotten up too also, had he -

Jean froze, his train of thought completely derailed. In front of him, standing on the path, was a dog.

It was a wild, shaggy thing; it’s dark coat matted and hanging in locks and knots. It looked at him, and Jean could see the glimmer of eyes somewhere amongst all the fur.

For one wildly stupid moment, Jean was _terrified._ He could feel his heart beat growing faster in his chest as he breath grew more shallow. He was alone, without his squad. And where were his swords?! The titan would –

Jean stumbled back, falling against the dirt path. He squeezed shut his eyes, his breaths little more than gasps. When he opened his eyes, the dog was just a dog again. And he was Jean. And there was no titan.

He swore pushing himself up and brushing himself down. With perhaps a little too much aggression than was needed he clapped, shouting at the dog.

It whimpered from the noise, it’s ears immediately flattening against it’s head as it turned and scurried into the forest.

Jean ran a shaking hand through his hair. His heart didn’t believe his mind, and was still beating adrenaline through his body. He thought he was finally over the flashbacks.

He scowled again, his pace increasing until he at last saw the hut and his shoulders finally relaxed. Home.

Even in the dusk, their garden expelled brilliance. Although perhaps he was being overgenerous to himself to say _their. Mikasa’s_ would’ve been far more suitable, but hey, he helped with watering.

He walked down the pebbled path, his hand running through the flurry of flowers. She had put the memorials side by side, and although they were all one plot, their different flowers distinguished where one ended and the other started.

Him and Mikasa spent hours pouring over gardening books, searching for the flowers they though suited each memorial. The colours and the properties and the smells. To form remembrance through nature.

Jean recited the names as he passed by the plots, pausing at the last one. _Marco._

He knelt down to pluck one of the forget-me-nots. He spun the flower between his fingers, watching the petals dance in the dusk.

“You’re home late.”

He looked up. Mikasa’s silhouette leaned against the open door, and for a moment all he could see of her was her outline and shadows of her features. Darkness against light.

Then she shifted, and she was Mikasa again. Her hair in a loose braid, flour smudging her cheek and forehead. A dirty apron tied around her waist. Her arms crossed.

“Sorry.” Jean stood, walking to her as he put the flower in his pocket.

He placed a kiss on her cheek, and went to move further in but her hands stopped him. Her fingers gently gripped his chin, direction his attention back to her while her other hand rested against his cheek. He leaned into her touch, her coolness a blessing against his clammy skin.

“What happened?” Her eyes narrowed as she examined him.

“Nothing.” Damned if he told her his was in this state because of a _dog._

Her eyes darted to his, her lips thinned. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He raised his hand and lightly placed it against her wrist, pulling her away from his cheek. “Not a ghost, just a long day at work.”

He could tell she didn’t believe him, but she released him anyway and walked further into their living room. The first thing he did was stretch, and it seemed only in the safety of his home could he fully shake off the paranoia he’d felt since he’d seen the dog. The next thing he did was take of his coat, and the third thing was to look for their baby.

Although he referred to Marc by his name most of the time, in his head he couldn’t help but say _their baby._ Even two years on, he still couldn’t fully believe his luck.

“He’s upstairs asleep.” Mikasa answered his question before he could ask it, locking the door behind her. She saw the disappointment on Jean’s face and minutely raised an eyebrow. “You should’ve been home sooner.”

Luckily for both of them, Jean’s Bad Mood seemed to have been scared off by the dog, and Jean didn’t argue or defend himself, but just nodded. “I know.”

Mikasa’s expression softened somewhat, and she walked over to him. He watched as her fingers began to undo his tie, tutting as she did so.

“It’s wonky you know.”

Jean sighed. “I hate wearing ties.”

“I know.”

They were silent for a beat as she pulled the tie free from his neck and undid the top button of his shirt. He ran a hand over the now freed skin, feeling where the collar had pinched him.

“How’d the meetings go?” She threw the tie over the stair banister to be hung up, and walked into the kitchen, knowing he’d follow.

“Awfully. Just the fact they would only meet with me if I was in a suit should’ve told me how the day would go.” Dinner was normally a team event, but whenever he had meetings Mikasa would cook alone. Today she slid a slice of lasagna in front of Jean, and Jean’s mood temporally lifted to admire the meal.

“You made this?” He pointed at the laid meal with his fork.

Mikasa stared at him, expressionless. “No actually, Marc's discovered he has a knack for cooking beef dishes.”

They looked at each for a moment, Jean’s fork remained hovering in the air. They were waiting, seeing who would crack first. Who would smile.

As normal, Jean’s lips tugged upwards and then he gave up even trying to repress the smile. “Okay, that was a fair enough.”

Mikasa allowed herself a victory smirk before she continued to bake. As he ate, he watched her stirring the bowl, carefully measuring out sugar. And they talked. The conversation flowed like the river outside; never particularly deep, but with its own natural currents. It was the first conversation he’d had that day where he didn’t really have to _think._ He just listened to her and she listened to him, and ever so often she’d offer him a baking utensil to lick clean.

He knew that even though out of the two of them, he was _technically_ the only one who worked for the scouts, it was wildly accepted that him and Mikasa came as a team. Any problems he had would’ve been solved the night before between the two of them, the notes he used in meetings had annotations in the margins written by her hand. He had even had officials coming to him, and asking him to pass on a query or comment to Mikasa. He joked he was little more than a messenger boy, and she would laugh, kissing him.

That evening he told her about all the bureaucracy strings and knots binding the scouts, and in her ever-soft voice she offered some ideas or theories. And then she described her day, what she had planted and what books she was reading and what Marc had done.

She was leaning against the oven, waiting for the buns to bake, as he was just finishing his dinner. He could feel her gaze on him, and knowing what was coming, purposely ignored it.

“Are you ready to tell me what really happened?”

Jean pushed around some left over sauce on his plate, trying to figure out how to get around the topic, how to conceal the truth. But then he looked at her and reminded himself that she was his wife, but more importantly she was Mikasa, and he didn’t hide things from her.

“I saw a dog.”

Whatever reaction he had been expecting, it was not the one he was given. Mikasa visible relaxed, her shoulders dipping.

“Oh good. That’s all.”

Jean’s brow burrowed. “What do you mean ‘ _oh good that’s all.’_ Aren’t you even going to ask me what the dog was like? It could’ve been a wild wolf for you know.”

She looked back at him, her expression level. “Was it?”

“Well no but – from hounding me with questions about why I was so pale, you’ve suddenly stopped being very interested in the actual answer.”

He knew he was being contemptuous, and maybe he had been a bit too premature to have just assumed his Bad Mood had instantly evaporated.

She didn’t answer him for a moment, and then turned and opened the oven. He watched as she lifted the tray out, setting it on the hob to cool down. The buns were looking golden brown, and he could even make out their flakiness from where he was sitting.

“I am interested.” She spoke slowly, and he could tell she was trying to avoid a fight. Because he was in a Bad Mood, and even though he didn’t want to fight, he somehow always ending up starting one.

“I just already know most of the details.”

Jean looked at her, this time his annoyance replaced by confusion. “Huh?”

She turned, meeting his gaze. “It was a big, shaggy thing. Around waist-high and very timid. Dark hair in knots. You probably saw it on the road by the forest, just before the house.”

Jean just stared at her for a moment.

“How do you know that?”

She turned back to the tray, gently easing the spatula under a buns.

“Because I’ve been feeding him most days for the past week.”

Jean just stared at her, his mouth slightly open.

She glanced behind her shoulder, taking in his reaction. “What?”

“I mean… why didn’t you tell me? You’ve been feeding this dog for the _past week?”_

She shrugged. “I just didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“Well…” Jean took a deep breath. “Please stop feeding him. Or she. or it. The dog.”

Mikasa paused easing a bun from the tray, and fully turned to face Jean. “Why?”

“What do you mean why? Because it’s dangerous!”

She tilted her head as she considered his words, before simply saying “I don’t think so” and turning back to the buns.

Jean took another deep breath, desperately trying to retain his calm. He knew this wasn’t all about a dog. This was about meetings and not being listened to and exhaustion and titans and the dog just happened to act as a vehicle for it all.

“Well, you don’t know that. So please stop feeding it.”

“Jean I’ve been around him. I’ve even petted him. He’s shy and timid, but he’d not vicious. He’s not _dangerous.”_ She lifted another bun up from the tray.

“That’s your belief Mikasa. I didn’t get that impression. So just stop feeding it and encouraging it to hang around this area.” His tried to speak as level as he could.

She turned, her had resting on her hip. “What’s this really about Jean?”

He hit the table, the cutlery jingled against the wood as his Bad Mood finally came to fruition. “Damnit Mikasa! This is about that damned dog and you feeding it! Just stop it! You might be willing to risk your life to pet some mutt, but please don’t risk our son’s.” As with what always happened, as soon as he finished he wished he could take back the words, pluck them from the air before they reached Mikasa’s ear.

Her eyebrows rose. “You think I put _our_ son’s life at risk?”

He shook his head, energy and anger spent.

“You think that everything I do, I do without thinking about him first, how it will affect him? Even the most mundane things like cooking buns?” She gestured to the tray behind her, and even though her voice was level, there was a hardness present.

Jean looked down at the table and shook his head again. “Of course not.”

Mikasa gave him one last look before turning back to the tray. “Go to bed Jean. You’re wrecked.” Her tone was back to it’s usual softness.

He stood. “No, I’ll help wash up…”

His voice trailed away when she gave him a look, the anger he had created just barely below the surface. “Jean. Bed.”

He nodded, and slowly made his way up the stairs. Instead of turning left, he gently opened the door on the right. A beam of light spread out across the wooden floor, eventually landing on the sleeping toddler.

Jean slipped off his shoes, then with muffled footfall crept into the room. He knelt beside the bed, brushing his son’s dark hair from his forehead to place a kiss there instead.

He picked up a teddy that had fallen out of the bed, recognising it as Mr Eggy, his own childhood toy. He held the toy up, looking into the wonky button eyes. They’d come along way, him and Mr Eggy.

He dusted off any imaginary specks of dirt before tucking Mr Eggy back under the blanket, under his son’s chin.

He ghosted his finger along the outline of his son’s cheeks, and hoped that their fullness never faded. He then leaned forward and left another kiss, this time on the tip of his button-nose, and went to stand.

It was then that he remembered it. He fished it out of his pocket, holding it close to his face to make it out in the gloom.

The forget-me-not was looking a little squashed, but somehow had kept all its petal. He half-heartedly attempted to straighten it out, but then got worried he would rip the delicate stem so gave up.

He leaned down, carefully placing the flower in the vial on the bedside counter. A little explosion of perriwinkle stood beside bedtime storybooks and a lamp; each flower a night’s kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Twooo👀

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly thank you so much for all the support on chapter 1💖 And here's chapter 2!  
> ((Also for some reason the notes for chapter 1 seem to be at the bottom of this chapter instead, no idea how or why but there you are!)

Jean woke up as the weight on the bed shifted. He groggily blinked, just able to make out Mikasa dressing in their darkened room. The blinds were still shut, but he guessed if he were to look out, the sun would just be spilling over the horizon, the birthing colours of reds and yellows spreading across the otherwise shaded sky. She had never been completely able to sleep in after dawn. A characteristic that was in direct contrast to her husband, who was very much able to.

Jean sat up, rubbing his eyes. For once, he hadn’t slept well. Dark eyes and snarling snouts had punctuated his night.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” Her voice was soft as she quickly brushed out her hair.

“No, it’s okay.” Jean yawned, his sentence coming out as a garbled sound, and he repeated himself. “I have to go into Mitras for another batch of meetings, so would’ve had to get up around now soon.”

“I’ll put on the kettle for you.” Mikasa darted across the room and pecked a kiss his forehead before leaving the room. “Don’t fall asleep!”

Jean scoffed to himself, before calling back “I won’t!”

He did.

He jerked awake, cursing himself as he scrambled for his watch. He hadn’t slept that much longer, but three-quarters of an hour lost meant he would have to rush to catch the ferry to Mitras. He cursed again, dressing quickly in the dark.

He arrived in the kitchen buttoning up his shirt with one hand while his other gripped an odd sock.

Mikasa was feeding Marc when he walked in, and her eyes took him in before she returned to the task at hand. Marc lifted his hands, making happy chirps when he saw his father, and Jean leaned over to kiss his forehead.

“Heya baby!” He cooed in his usual greeting, before leaning over and ruffling Mikasa’s loose hair. She gave him a look, but was far too used to it now to complain. He knew secretly she enjoyed it, that there was a reason she waited until after breakfast to style her hair.

“I’ve never known someone take 45 minutes to put on trousers, half a shirt and a sock.” Mikasa said dryly, handing him a bowl of porridge. “It might be cold now.”

“What can I say, I was indecisive today. I tried on all of my tops, and then all yours for good measure, before I decided on the first one I had put on. Thank you by the way.” Jean sank into a seat, diving into the porridge as he pulled on the other sock with one hand.

He tried to ask her a question with his mouth full, and she gave him a stern look as she fed Marc another spoonful. Even though he wasn’t talking yet, Mikasa had implemented a new family rule so he wouldn’t pick up the bad habit; no speaking with full mouths.

“Sorry.” Jean swallowed his spoonful of porridge. “I was saying do you have your classes today?”

“Yep. Twelve to three.” Around five years ago, Mikasa had decided to run some informal defense classes in the Trost. They were free, so Mikasa could pick and choose who she accepted in the class. Jean had noticed that although her students were a mix of ages, all of them had the same sense of vulnerability to them, a skinniness or weakness that was palpable. Or they did, until they completed her classes.

They ran twice weekly, and as Jean only worked a three-day week, he normally accompanied her at least to one of the classes. His job was babysit Marc, walk around offering mild insights and corrections to people’s stances (which more often than not Mikasa would then come along and tell the student to disregard), and act as a volunteer for her next teachable attack move.

After all but inhaling the porridge Jean quickly washed the bowl out. He went to put on his shoes but Mikasa grabbed his shirt before he could pass.

“What?”

She sighed, undoing the buttons with nimble fingers.

“Er Mikasa, I’m really flattered but this isn’t the –“

“You’ve buttoned your shirt up all wrong.” She looked at him as she reached his collar button, a smile tugging on her lips, before she begun to do them up again correctly.

“Oh, er thanks.”

She snorted as she finished. “Ever hopeful aren’t you. Tie?”

Wordless Jean handed her his rolled up tie, and she pulled up his collar, looping the tie around his neck. “You’re going to be late home again?”

“Hopefully not. Anyway, I have the next two days off. We could go for a picnic again tomorrow?”

She hummed in response as she knotted the tie, and Jean winced as he felt it push against his throat. It felt like a noose. Christ he really hated wearing a tie.

He grabbed her hand before she could lower it, and she looked at him.

“Mikasa.” He squeezed her palm in emphasis. “Promise me you won’t feed the dog today?”

She looked at him, blinking slowly. Her eyes were so large in comparison to his, dark and seemingly endless.

“Jean, you know I won’t make a promise to you I can’t be sure I won’t break.”

He dropped her hand, exhaling through his nose as he turned away. He leaned down to kiss Marc’s forehead and smiled as the toddler looked up with him with eyes as wide as his mother’s. He then turned and pecked a kiss on Mikasa’s cheek.

“Thanks for the porridge.” He quietly said as he left, quickly tying up his shoes and grabbing his jacket.

He knew without turning she would be standing against the kitchen doorframe, her arms folded as she watched him leave.

“Have a good day!”

“Thanks, you too.” He replied bluntly as he locked the door behind him. Once he knew she couldn’t see him, he allowed himself to scowl. He really hoped she wouldn’t feed that damn dog. Why couldn’t she listen to him, even just once?

***

Considering how awful the day previous had been, as well as how badly the day had actually begun, Jean had a reasonably good time in the city. He managed to catch his ferry (just), the first meeting went surprisingly smoothly, and the second was actually cancelled. He ended up being able to call his workday finished by almost noon, a fact that delighted him no bounds.

His mood was only dampened when he reached the forest road. He paused at the beginning of the trees, knowing he had to walk down it to go home, but also knowing he desperately didn’t want to.

It was stupid. It was a dog. Nothing but a mangy mutt. There were no titans hiding behind trunks, no hands to dodge and necks to slice.

Jean closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He could do this. Just a path. Just a dog.

He walked slowly, and even though he reminded himself that he was safe, his eyes still darted to the sides, searching the shadows. His heartbeat still grew faster, his breath more uneven.

But there was nothing. No dog, no titans ( _because they weren’t here, because he was safe and they were in the past_ ), not even a bird.

And then he saw it. Placed right in the middle of the path. A plate.

Jean gritted his teeth as he knelt down to pick it up. He recognised it well, he was pretty sure he had eaten lasagna off it the previous night.

It was empty, but not clean. Crumbs were plastered to the pottery, and looking down, Jean could even make out pawprints in the mud surrounding it.

He squeezed his eyes shut as he took a deep breath. Why couldn’t she just listen to him?

He could see her as he reached their home, her figure bent over in the garden. Beside her, a mini figure eagerly played with toys against a little mound of turned earth waiting to be used in planting.

As Jean neared, he placed the plate down on the grass and then called for his son. He watched the face pop up, confusion being replaced by delight. He crouched down, his arms opened as he watched Marc make his way over. It always delighted him to watch his son do his toddler run. It was so wobbly, unsteady but reliable that he couldn’t help but laugh.

And then he was in his arms and he lifted him up, the child babbling nonsensical but very exciting-sounding things.

“Your hands are all dirty!” Jean tutted as he brushed flakes of dirt from two little palms, hoping his uniform hadn’t gotten completely muddy. Not that he would’ve minded particularly.

When he was sure he had Marc, he half-knelt down, grabbing the plate with his free hand.

He knew Mikasa was concerned about Marc’s talking levels, but truthfully Jean didn’t see what the big deal was. Sure, neither of them could really understand anything he chatted and murmured to himself, but they _almost_ sounded like words. Jean was sure in the next year or so he’d make the jump to actual words. Mikasa was less sure, and the topic acted as a source of contention between the two of them.

“Where’s Momma?” He leaned over to place a quick kiss on a cheek. Marc giggled, pointing towards the garden.

She was sitting back, watching them approach. He recognised the section of the garden she was tending. It was her parent’s memorial. Jasmin and gillyflowers. She wiped at her forehead, watching as they neared

When he reached her, he didn’t speak, and they looked at each other for a beat. He held out the plate. She eyed it for a moment, and then wordlessly accepted it. As soon as she had he walked on towards the house.

He allowed himself a briefest moment of sullenness of being a husband before he returned to being a father.

“How about a bath, huh?” He ran a hand through the dark hair as his son shook his head, babbling away.

“You have to have a bath. Look. Dirty!” He kicked off his shoes and held out his son’s palms out for the child to examine.

***

It was only after Jean had put Marc to sleep did they finally talk. Dinner, the remaining lasagna for the two adults and a bowl of vegetable pasta for Marc, had been a terse affair. At the very least, it was a blessing they never had to worry about Marc refusing to eat. Luckily for all involved, it seemed Marc had gotten his father’s appetite and not his mother’s, and pretty much ate anything they put in front of him.

Jean helped cut up the stalks of asparagus for him, smiling in response whenever a mumbling sentence seemed to be directed at him, but when Marc was turned away his frown returned. Mikasa opposite barely touched her lasagna, stirring a fork through the tomato sauce.

When Marc had finished, wordlessly she had stood up and begun to tidy. Jean lifted him up, and walked next to Mikasa but didn’t look at her.

“Say night night to Momma.” Marc had leaned over and given Mikasa’s cheek a particularly messy kiss while babbling something that could almost be _night,_ but not quite.

Mikasa had smiled thinly. “Goodnight my love.” Her gaze had darted from Marc to Jean, but Jean stayed looking at the dirty plates beside her and she had sighed.

“Come on, Mr Eggy awaits.” Even to his own ears he sounded tired, but he supposed toddlers didn’t quite pick up on social queues such as tone, and Marc had jabbered back excitedly.

Jean had to read nearly a complete storybook before Marc eventually fell asleep. He had paused at the door, looking back at his sleeping son and putting of going downstairs. Because he knew what would happen. And he wasn’t even in one of his Bad Moods or anything.

Sighing, he gently shut the door and headed downstairs. Mikasa was waiting for him, reading at the kitchen table, but as soon as she saw him she put the book down.

He didn’t sit with her, instead leant against the wall, looking at her. He didn’t know what to say, how to speak without crying or losing his damn temper. He didn’t even know fully why he was so upset about her feeding the damn dog. Only that he was.

She sighed deeply, as if preparing herself for what was to come.

“You’re mad at me.”

It was more of a statement than a question, but Jean nodded in response anyway.

“I just-“ She paused, clearly trying to phrase her words carefully. “I don’t understand why this is such a big deal for you? It’s just a dog.”

“How do you know that? “ Jean gestured to her, the exasperation clear in his voice. “How do you know it’s _just a dog?_ How do you know it’s not a mad dog, or a vicious dog, or a dog whose developed the taste for toddlers? How do you know it’s _just a dog?”_

“Because I do! He’s clearly some abandoned farm dog whose half-starved! I thought you’d think it was a great idea – I was thinking of _our_ son after all. I thought it would teach him empathy.”

“I think there’s other ways to _teach him empathy_ other than feeding a stray mutt.” Jean half scoffed, and could tell by the way Mikasa’s eyes narrowed that she was very definitely annoyed. But so was he, so at least they matched each other’s energies now.

“I’m open to suggestions!” Mikasa said, and now it was Jean’s turn for his eyes to narrow.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He could see her debating how fully to dedicate herself into the fight, but then she back down and looked away. “Nothing.”

“Are you insinuating that, what, we’re _incapable_ of teaching our son empathy and compassion by ourselves? Or was it just that _I’m_ incapable of it?”

Mikasa looked back at him, her eyes flashed with anger.

“You know full well that’s not what I was –“

“Well it doesn’t matter!” Jean interrupted, suddenly keen to skip this part of the argument. It struck a little too close for comfort. “What matters is that I _specifically_ asked you to do something and –“

“And you didn’t give me a single good reason why!?” Mikasa stood up, her chair scrapping against the wooden floor. “You didn’t listen to my views on it, didn’t try to explain your own or justify it with reason, you just-“

“Because I shouldn’t have to!” Jean shouted, and then he turned away from her, pinching the bridge of her noise. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to raise my voice." His voice was softer, but still retained an edge to its words. "But I shouldn’t have to, Mikasa. Because if you asked me to stop doing something I would. Without question.”

He turned back to her when he heard her sit back down. She sighed, exhaling all the anger and frustration, leaving only a stubborn sadness.

“And I would too. But not when there’s a life involved. Even if its just a dog. Because he might starve if I don’t feed him.” She looked at him, a hint of gentleness returning to her voice. “I’m sorry Jean but until you give me a concrete reason, until you convince me, I won’t stop feeding the dog.”

He breathed out deeply, looking at her before breaking the eye contact. He addressed her book instead.

“I’m going to bed. Goodnight.” His voice was low, a hint of rawness to it, and he turned away before she could respond, before she could see how absolutely wrecked he was.

He was still awake when she softly entered their room a few hours later. He didn’t react to the bed dipping with her weight, but he could tell she knew he was awake from his breathing.

Wordless she learned over, leaving a soft kiss against his shoulder before she settled down on her side of the bed.

Jean didn’t move at first, but then he reached over, his hand finding hers against the sheet.

His warm fingers rested against her cold ones, waiting. With the smallest movement, he felt Mikasa turn her hand inch by inch, opening her grip. Jean's touch was light as his fingers ran over her palm before slipping between her own fingers.

They fell asleep like that. Their bodies facing opposite direction, but their hands joined, bridging the gap between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'd really love to hear what you think, tbh I feel like the beginning goes on a bit, but couldn't figure out what to cut ://  
> Chapter 3 will probably be out sometime early next week as I have to finally stop ignoring homework in favour of writing fanfictions 😂 Hope you've enjoyed the story so far! And thanks again for the response on chapter 1💖

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy it! I'd really love to know what ye thought of it :) If you liked it, I'm currently writing a Jeankasa story called "To the Ends of the Earth and the Edges of Maps", which is updated daily. These two stories take place in entirely different canon universes, but are quite similar in a lot of ways (lil shameless story promotion there ;) Have a lovely day, and thanks so much for reading. Part 2 is coming soon!


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